


Crossed-wires.

by bennyslegs



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fawnlock, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:51:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bennyslegs/pseuds/bennyslegs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has bad days. Fawnlock's had enough. He gets grumpy. His wires get crossed. I'm terrible at summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossed-wires.

**Author's Note:**

> So..... it's 7am and i have work in a few hours. Time to write about 2k out of nowhere! I attempted... a bit of smut here, never done this before so if it's crap be gentle i'm learning~!

Sometimes John had bad days. Fawnlock understood having bad days, he had them too. Days where the boredom was unbearable, days where he missed his home. (Before the fire) Days where the memory of leaving Moosecroft behind seeped into his bones and made his heart feel heavy with guilt, guilt that he'd almost perfected shoving down until it was non-existent. ( _He'd had to leave. Had to_.)

But he was the supposed to be the one who had the strops, it was in his nature. Not John's. That wasn't how it went. When John had bad days, it was like a small natural disaster that upset everything around it. Fawnlock found himself getting comfortable in the days that John was playful, the days where John seemed endlessly fascinated in teaching Fawnlock new things.

So when the bad days came, it flipped his world and left him confused, because what could John possibly have bad days over? He had Fawnlock, and all kinds of fascinating things to look at, and books to read, how could he ever feel bad?

Some days, John just didn't want to speak. Or found it hard to get out of bed. Fawnlock loved John's voice, and his bed, it smelt like warmth and skin and John's sweat, it was comfortable and soft, but he had a feeling these weren't the reasons why John wouldn't get out of bed. Fawnlock had nudged at him, snuffled into various nooks and crannys to annoy him, (the feet were  _almost_  a success) and even tried to flip John over, but he was a dead weight and it wasn't interesting, it was tiring. Fawnlock had given up and sulked in the kitchen, investigated things alone (no fun when you have nobody to show off to) until John had dragged himself out of the room and brought himself back to life. 

It was frustrating, Fawnlock thought, as he dropped 3 teabags and a spoon into a cup and poured in cold water from the tap, not knowing how to make a human happy. Today had been another bad day (following two steadily worsening bad days) and John was slumped in bed again, looking out the window without saying a word.

Fawnlock had tried all kinds of things to make John happy on these sorts of days. Picking rare flowers, bringing home interesting shaped rocks, things he'd have done to impress his brother, and make him proud. But these things got nothing more than a weak smile from John, and Fawnlock found it hard to not get angry. He didn't want to, it was just all so _frustrating_! It almost felt like John was *longing* for something, but Fawnlock couldn't put his finger on what. A human thing? His home? Surely his home couldn't be better than  _this._

He padded into the bedroom and plopped the cup on the bedside table. John barely flinched, and Fawnlock huffed. 

"Why?" He demanded, poking at the quilt burrito John has resigned to become. He heard a muffled response which was not good enough, so he tore back the quilt roughly until John's head popped out.

"Why what, Fawnlock? I'm tired, I don't want to teach today." He made to roll over, but Fawnlock grabbed his arm roughly and John stilled.

"No. Today?  _No_." Fawnlock tugged at John's arm until John was almost fully out of his quilt cave. John let him for a while until he worked up the energy to tug back. 

"I said I don't want-" Before John could finish, Fawnlock had tugged him out fully and had fireman lifted John clean over his shoulder and was striding into the kitchen-cum-front room. He roughly dumped John onto the sofa, who's mouth was open with shock. Fawnlock squatted infront of him and tried his best Father scolding impression. 

"Enough. Not good. Not happy, see? Obvious. Unaccept-d." He paused, and tried to rethink what he'd just said.

"Unaccept-dibble. Dabble. Unaccept-dabble." He wrinked his nose, the word felt wrong but he'd kept on. John's lips were curling at the side. 

"Should be good! Should be happy! Me, I'm here! I'm good! I'm smart, I'm learning, I talk! Not enough?  _Don't!_ " John started smiling fully, and then started to giggle. Was he mocking Fawnlock, or enjoying himself? Fawnlock wasn't sure yet and it was very annoying.

"Good laugh or bad laugh? Tell!  _Oi!_ " He poked at John's ribs and that set him off further, he was laughing so hard his face was getting a little red.

Fawnlock could feel his temper rising. He started to growl, low in his chest. He didn't realise he'd even started doing it until John stopped laughing and looked at him strangely, as if his loyal puppy had started nipping too hard at his fingers. Maybe Fawnlock  _would_  nip him a couple of times, show him what for. That seemed like a very good idea all of a sudden.

~~~

"Hey-" John started, still grinning. Before he could say any more (Fawnlock had a habit of cutting John off when he felt like it) he was being pinned to the sofa by a very angry creature that was past the point of annoyed. 

John could barely see anything but Fawnlock's face and eyes far too close for comfort. Fawnlock's chest was heaving (and John's was matching) and he looked  _frightening_  - John could feel his pulse starting to spike as he tried to think back to why this happened. It was merely seconds ago Fawnlock was just talking - babbling, really - where had this come from? He couldn't add things up, but it wasn't bad - this was the most exciting thing that had happened in  _weeks._  He was  _scared._

Fawnlock's long dark fingers were gripping his biceps uncomfortably, his knees by Johns hips. He was fully on John's lap and John wasn't quite sure what to do with that, as he was too preoccupied with Fawnlock's bared teeth in his face and the growl that was vibrating through Fawnlock's chest and into his.

Fawnlock didn't even give him a chance to speak before interrupting this time, John had barely opened his mouth to say something,  _anything_ , before Fawnlock had ducked his head and started mouthing messily at John's neck. John stilled completely - he nervously wanted to laugh, (was this  _kissing?_ ) but remembered the bared teeth and thought against it. As if Fawnlock was inside his mind, John felt them then - he hissed as Fawnlock's sharp teeth scraped over the stubbly skin just under his jaw to the left, (he hadn't shaved in a while, he'd had no reason to) and wriggled uncomfortably under Fawnlock's crushing weight. (Where all John's food went)

John warily put his hands onto Fawnlock's hips, and tried to tug him backwards, but found his efforts were half-arsed at best. He was torn, really, he was curious - and mildly disturbed, and a dark part of him wanted to see how far this would go- when the rest of him screamed for him to stop this, use your brain, John, stop thinking with your dick.

Fawnlock took the hands on his hips as encouragement apparently, and began to rut against John's crotch with great enthusiasm. John could feel that Fawnlock's petite cock was fully-hard, and rubbing directly against the fly of his jeans. John wondered hysterically how that must have chaffed, surely?, but he wasn't  _stopping_  - John felt himself start to panic - this was too fast and too bizarre and he could feel the soft fur of Fawnlock's hips under his finger tips and he could feel the gentle gusts of air from Fawnlock's flicking ears to the side of his face as Fawnlock panted heavily into the crook of John's neck, could hear the whining high in Fawnlock's throat (who he doubted had any idea what he was doing, which made him feel bad. Really bad. And excited. Shit) and it was all too much and he needed to stop this before he went too far and did something he'd regret, however willing the shuddering creature in his arms was, and however willing  _he was_.

He shoved Fawnlock back with all his strength, who landed with a 'whuff' on the rug in the middle of the room. His pupils were blown, his eyes dark and wide, hair sticking up as if messed by eager fingers. (Had John done that? He couldn't have. Could he? It felt like seconds. What if it had been minutes??) 

Fawnlock looked scared. He looked completely out of his depth, but excited as he did whenever he discovered something new, something to learn about, something to pursue. He was licking his lips. John hated it, hated that he had been so interested, that he had hesitated to push Fawnlock off, hated that the idea of showing Fawnlock sex and all the nice things that came with it was becoming more and more appealing to him. (Well, hate was a strong word. But his feelings were strong and confused and his heart was going like the clappers and he wanted. He _really_  wanted. He just wished he didn't  _want._ )

He'd been out here too long. The quiet was getting to him. But his blood was pumping furiously, and he felt more alive than he'd felt in weeks. He cleared his throat and straightened his shirt, then adjusted his crotch subtly. 

"Are you alright?" John went to hold out a hand to help Fawnlock up but he shuffled back, eyes still wide, hands looking for something to latch onto. He looked down, headcocked, at his erection, flushed and poking out unashamed from his thick hatch of fur that covered most of his lower abdomen. John had never seen Fawnlock's penis before and he felt his face heat up thinking about how much he wanted to look,  _look again_ , but forced his eyes to stay on Fawnlock's face.

He tried his best to look soothing, without words, (children, in Afghanistan. patients, who spoke no english) and held his hands up. 

"It's okay, I'm not angry. You just got angry, and you got confused, and got carried away-" Fawnlock had bolted before John got to finish and John thought furiously one day that'd he'd teach Fawnlock just how rude it was to not let him finish a damn sentence half the time, even if Fawnlock barely understood most of what John said. 

The door swung on it's hinges as John watched Fawnlock disappear into the forest. John rubbed at his face and sighed, he wasn't too worried  - Fawnlock had stropped off like this before, he just hoped Fawnlock's pent up aggression/arousal wouldn't cause him any accidents, or fights, with animals or some such. Atleast he'd know how to patch him up if they did happen, which made him feel a bit better. He didn't think twice about the idea that Fawnlock might not come back. That was not possible.

He shut the door but didn't lock it, (Fawnlock knew how to pick locks, but he didn't want him to mistake the locked door as a sign of him being unwelcome.) and made his way into his bedroom. Only a while ago he'd been slumped in this bed feeling miserable. Now his heart was thrumming. It felt wonderful. He flopped on top of the bed and wasted no time in pushing a hand into his pants and tugging at his erection, not wanting to waste a good hard on.

He tried to think of past lovers - soft chests and musky female smells, but failed as the events that happened minutes ago crawled eagerly back into his mind, the fingers clenching onto his arms, the minute rutting of the inexperienced hips above his, the tongue warm and heavy lapping at his nervous sweat slicked neck - and he was coming, over his hand and seeping into his underwear, and he couldn't find it in him to care. He wiped his hand lazily on his tshirt and let the post-orgasm haze drift over him. He'd get up in a minute. In a minute, and take a shower. He'll do that. 

John spent the rest of the day alone, cleaning the cottage, cleaning his gun, (it felt good to see it again, he hadn't touched it in a while and the weight in his hands was comforting) he stayed up way into the night, waiting for Fawnlock to come back, but nothing. He left his tea on the table but it went cold (though he doubted Fawnlock cared) He settled himself into bed and cringed because he'd forgotten to wash the sheets of all things - but felt sleep tugging at him before he decided to do anything about it.

When Fawnlock creeped into John's bed hours later, and curled around him, letting out an almighty sigh and breathing deeply, snuffling his nose deep into the sheets, John pretended to be asleep. Fawnlock knew better. John knew Fawnlock knew better. 

Fawnlock wrapped his arms around Johns's middle timidly, as if asking permission whilst already in the process of doing the thing he was asking permission for. John took Fawnlock's hands in his and tugged them further until both their hands were over John's chest. 

"I'm not angry. Well, maybe a little bit angry. More at myself than you. I understand, though. Frustration, Arousal. When things collide and it's confusing, and daunting. Sometimes... I think I forget how human you are. Underneath... The fur and the other bits." He could feel Fawnlock smiling into the back of his neck. He wasn't sure if Fawnlock understood what he was saying, or if he was just smiling because they were talking, but it was comforting anyway.

"We're fine. It's all fine"  


End file.
